


A Bakery By Any Other Name

by Smiley5494



Series: English Assignments [3]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Act 1 Scene 1, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Benvolio sealed Romeo's fate, Benvolio's inner commentary is slightly murderous, English assignment, Eventual Major Character Death, Gregory is so done, I don't know how economy works, I'm loving these tags, Inspired by Romeo and Juliet, Insurance Fraud, Original Text, Poor Life Choices, Romeo has no luck with romance, Sampson is the biggest liar, This Is STUPID, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Violence, and has no idea, appropriations are annoying, both the Capulets and Montagues promote the beST BAKERY IN VERONA, but I'll never actually look at this again, but he still loves his best friends, clearly the best scene ever, do you bite your thumb at us sir, hope I get a good mark, i hate speeches, it has a spray-painted line through the middle, mentions of Murcutio and Rosaline, most-likely never to be looked at again, my teacher better like this, out loud, pinnacle of comedy, proud of this, really - Freeform, red vs blue vibes, tax payers dollars are going to waste on property damage, they share a carpark, this is best when read with funny voices, when I type Gnomeo and Juliet tags for blood and violence appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 04:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20576813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smiley5494/pseuds/Smiley5494
Summary: Act 1 Scene 1 of Romeo and Juliet with the original text but put in modern time. Opposing bakeries. For my English assignment





	A Bakery By Any Other Name

Sampson strode into the mostly-empty carpark followed closely by Gregory, they stopped next to Gregory’s car, parked next to the bins. Both wear the red aprons with Capulet’s Bakery in gold cursive embroidered on the pocket at their chest height. Sampson glared at the blue store across the road—Montague’s Baked Goods. Gregory followed his gaze and let out a frustrated huff.

“Gregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals,” Sampson announced into the carpark. It was past closing time and both stores were just locking up.

“No,” Gregory rolled his eyes and, slightly quieter, answered his colleague. “For then we should be colliers.”

“I mean,” Sampson picked up an empty glass bottle, Gregory followed suit, “an we be in choler, we’ll draw.”

“Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of collar.”

Sampson whirled around to face his friend, “I strike quickly, being moved!”

“But thou art not quickly moved to strike.” Gregory spoke knowingly and levelled a huge exaggerated wink at one of the Montague employees. The employee scowled and drove away. Sampson watched, a matching scowl on his face.

“A dog of the house Montague moves me.”

“To move is to stir,” Gregory let out a short disbelieving laugh, “and to be valiant is to stand. Therefore if thou art moved thou runn’st away.”

Both Capulet employees threw the bottles in the bin. Sampson faced the blue store and spoke definitively. “A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.”

Gregory scoffed and lent against his car. “That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.”

“’Tis true, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall. Therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.”

“The quarrel is between our masters and their men.”

“’Tis all one. I will show myself a tyrant. When I have fought with the men, I will be civil with the maids. I will cut off their heads.”

Gregory stood up, a flirtatious grin spreading over his face. “The heads of the maids?”

“Ay,” Sampson said proudly, but a disgusted laugh escaped anyway, “the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads. Take it in what sense thou wilt.”

“They must take it in sense that feel it.” Gregory sounded disgusted.

“Me they shall feel while I am able to stand, and ’tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.”

“’Tis well thou art not fish. If thou hadst, thou hadst been poor-john.”

Sampson’s face scrunched up as he tried to decode the insult. Before he could say anything, Gregory turned to face the Montague side of the carpark.

“Draw thy tool! Here comes the house of Montagues.”

Sampson turned. Abram, one of the better known Montague employees, and another worker, both wearing the blue aprons with silver writing.

“My naked weapon is out.” Sampson announced picking up another glass bottle from the floor—there’d been a party the other night and no-one had been smart enough to throw away the bottles. “Quarrel!” He continued, “I will back thee.”

“How?” Gregory snorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Turn thy back and run?”

Sampson looked affronted, “fear me not.”

“No, marry. I fear thee.”

Abram continued on his approach just as Gregory spoke again, “I will frown as I pass by, let them take it as they list.”

“Nay, as they dare,” Sampson announced when Abram was just within earshot, “I will bite my thumb at them, which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.” He bit his thumb towards Montague’s employees when they stopped nearby.

“Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?” Abram’s voice was pompous and carried seniority.

“I do bite my thumb, sir.” Sampson levelled a huge wink towards Gregory, who rolled his eyes.

“Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?” Abram levelled a glare towards Sampson, who matched it eagerly. Sampson thought for a moment before turning to Gregory, who in turn backed away.

“Is the law on our side if I say “ay”?” Sampson stage-whispered to Gregory. Abram glowered at the two Capulet employees.

Gregory sighed, hit his forehead with a loud slap, and replied “no” in a low groan. Sampson nodded, satisfied, and turned back to Abram and his friend.

“No, sir.” Sampson announced, “I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir.”

Gregory apparently decided to save his friend, because he interjected with a quick, “do you quarrel, sir?”

“Quarrel, sir?” Abram seemed confused, almost as though he wanted to say something else. “No, sir.”

“But if you do, sir,” Sampson breathed, “I am for you. I serve as good a man as you.”

“No better.”

“Well, sir.” Sampson stalled.

“Say ‘better’.” Gregory whispered to Sampson as Benvolio exited the bakery and made for his car. “Here comes one of my master's kinsmen.”

“Yes, better, sir.” Sampson didn’t acknowledge Gregory when he spoke to Abram.

“You lie.” Abram spoke in a dry deadpan. Sampson’s eye twitched and he gripped the glass bottle by the neck.

“Draw, if you be men.” Sampson raised his bottle, Gregory, Abram and the friend that had followed Abram over, followed suit with bottles of their own. “Gregory, remember thy washing blow.”

Sampson swung first, and the four dissolved into blows. Abram’s bottle smashed against Gregory’s and both cracked. Sampson nearly landed a hit on the other Montague employee, but missed by millimetres. Benvolio spotted the fight and ran over, his keys in his hand, held as though a sword. Tybalt, the Montague’s self-proclaimed arch-enemy, also spotted the fight and started over, but he walked instead of running.

“Part fools!” He yelled, “put up your swords. You know not what you do.”

“What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?” Tybalt had arrived, he too, picked up a bottle, but he levelled it towards Benvolio. “Turn thee, Benvolio. Look upon thy death.”

“I do but keep the peace,” Benvolio sounded like he was about to cry. His gaze settled on the fighters, all of them in their uniforms armed with nothing but the glass bottles scattered over the ground. “Put up thy sword, or manage it to part these men with me.”

“What, drawn, and talk of peace?” Tybalt scoffed, “I hate the word, as I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.”

Tybalt struck towards Benvolio, who ducked and scooped up a bottle from the ground. People passing by—locals, who hated the bakeries because of the petty property damage they did to each other; it extended to local stores as well—joined in for no apparent reason. 

“Clubs, bills, and partisans!” One yelled.

“Strike!” The second continued.

“Beat them down!” The third attacked Sampson from behind.

“Down with the Capulets,” the first one yelled again. “Down with the Montagues!”

The elderly owners of Capulet’s Bakery, Capulet himself, and his wife, known to everyone as simply Lady Capulet, walked over, stopping just outside of the radius of the fight. The elderly Montague and his wife—Lady Montague—stopped on the other side, opposite the Capulets.

“What noise is this?” Capulet shook his walking stick at the fighting people. “Give me my long sword, ho!”

“A crutch, a crutch, why call you for a sword?” Lady Capulet fretted over her husband. Montague cheekily waved his walking stick.

“My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, and flourishes his blade in spite of me.”

Montague made to step forward but his wife held him back. “Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not. Let me go.”

“Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.” Lady Montague scoffed and Lady Capulet sent a grateful smile her way. Escalus the Mayor of Verona, called ‘Prince’ by most, rushed in, followed by several cheering crowds of people.

“Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, profaners of this neighbour-stainèd steel! Will they not hear?—What, ho! You men, you beasts, that quench the fire of your pernicious rage, with purple fountains issuing from your veins, on pain of torture, from those bloody hands throw your mis-tempered weapons to the ground, and hear the sentence of your movèd prince.” Prince called, cameras clicked and the fighters stopped, Gregory and Sampson flushed. Abram held himself proud, despite the thin cut on his cheek. Prince took a deep breath and continued. “Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, by thee, old Capulet, and Montague, have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets and made Verona’s ancient citizens cast by their grave-beseeming ornaments, to wield old partisans in hands as old, cankered with peace, to part your cankered hate. If ever you disturb our streets again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time, all the rest depart away. You, Capulet, shall go along with me, and, Montague, come you this afternoon to know our farther pleasure in this case, to old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.”

Cowed by the reprimand everyone but Benvolio, Lady Montague and Montague, kept their eyes on the ground as they scuttled over to their individual cars and drove away.

Montague turned to Benvolio, furious. His wife opened her mouth to speak but Montague beat her to it. 

“Who set this ancient quarrel new a-broach? Speak nephew. Were you by when it began?”

“Here were the servants of your adversary, and yours, close fighting ere I did approach. I drew to part them. In the instant came the fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, which as he breathed defiance to my ears, he swung about his head and cut the winds, who, nothing hurt withal, hissed him in scorn. While we were changing thrusts and blows, came more and more and fought on part and part, til the Prince came, who parted either part.”

“Oh, where is Romeo? Saw you him today? Right glad I am he was not at this fray.” Lady Montague asked, hugging Benvolio.

“Madam, an hour before the worshipped sun peered forth the golden window of the east, a troubled mind drove me to walk abroad, where, underneath the grove of sycamore, that westward rooteth from this city side, so early walking did I see your son. Towards him I made, but he was 'ware of me, and stole into the covert of the wood. I, measuring his affections by my own, which then most sought where most might not be found, being one too many by my weary self, pursued my humour not pursuing his, and gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.”

Lady Montague thanked him and made her way over to her car. Montague and Benvolio watched her leave.

“Many a morning hath he there been seen, with tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew, adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs. But all so soon as the all-cheering sun should in the farthest east begin to draw the shady curtains from Aurora’s bed, away from light steals home my heavy son, and private in his chamber pens himself, shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out, and makes himself an artificial night. Black and portentous must this humour prove unless good counsel may the cause remove.”

“My noble uncle, do you know the cause?”

“I neither know it nor can learn of him.”

“Have you importuned him by any means?”

“Both by myself and many other friends. But he, his own affections councillor, is to himself—I will not say how true, but to himself so secret and so close, so far from sounding and discovery, as is the bud bit with an envious worm, ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, or dedicate his beauty to the same. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow. We would as willingly give cure as know.”

Montague shook his head sadly, and a rush of sympathy flooded Benvolio. Romeo’s car pulled into the carpark, and pulled up to a stop on the blue-painted side. Benvolio pointed it out to Montague.

“See, where he comes. So please you, step aside. I’ll know his grievance or be much denied.”

“I would thou wert so happy by thy stay to hear true shrift.” Montague followed his wife to their car. “Come, madam, let’s away.”

Benvolio moved towards Romeo’s parked car and slid into the passenger’s seat. “Good morrow, cousin.”

“Is the day so young?”

Benvolio raised a disbelieving eyebrow and glanced out the window at the night sky. “But new struck nine.”

“Ay me!” Romeo looked like he was about to cry and Benvolio felt another pang of sympathy. “Sad hours seem so long. Was that my father that went hence so fast?”

“It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?”

“Not having that which, having, makes them short.”

“In love?” Benvolio sang suggestively, leaning forward.

“Out.” Romeo sighed, Benvolio sat back with a sad huff.

“Of love?”

“Out of her favour, where I am in love.”

“Alas, that love, so gentle in his view,” Benvolio gasped dramatically, hand over his forehead, “should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!”

“Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine?” Romeo finally turned completely to face Benvolio and spotted the blood on his arm. He scanned the carpark and spotted the shattered glass. “O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here’s much to do with hate but more with love. Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate, O anything of nothing first created! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?”

“No, coz, I rather weep.”

“Good heart, at what?”

A slow grin crept over Benvolio’s face, “at thy good heart’s oppression.”

Romeo didn’t laugh. “Why, such is love’s transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, which thou wilt propagate, to have it pressed with more of thine. This love that thou hast shown doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, a choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz.”

“Soft! I will go along. And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.”

“Tut, I have lost myself. I am not here. This is not Romeo. He’s some other where.”

Benvolio’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Huh, nothing like a little existential crisis for late night driving. “Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.”

“What, shall I groan and tell thee?”

“Groan! Why, no. But sadly, tell me who.”

“A sick man in sadness makes his will, a word ill urged to one that is so ill. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.”

Benvolio sighed, he didn’t have time for mind games, there was a party he and Mercutio wanted to gatecrash starting soon. “I aimed so near when I supposed you loved.”

“A right good markman!” Romeo seemed to melt into his seat, “and she’s fair I love.”

“A right fair mark,” Benvolio grit out, “fair coz, is soonest hit.”

“Well, in that hit you miss. She’ll not be hit with Cupid’s arrow.” Romeo flushed as he thought about the mystery woman, “she hath Dian’s wit. And, in strong proof of chastity well armed from love’s weak childish bow, she lives uncharmed. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, nor bide th’ encounter of assailing eyes, nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold. Oh, she is rich in beauty, only poor that when she dies, with beauty dies her store.”

“Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?” Sometimes Benvolio just wanted to wrap his hands around Romeo‘s throat. That would surely make his cousin reach the point faster.

“She hath,” Romeo agreed, blissfully unaware of Benvolio’s inner monologue. “And in that sparing makes huge waste, for beauty, starved with her severity, cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely to fair, to merit bliss by making me despair. She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow do I live dead that live to tell it now.”

All Benvolio wanted to do was yell ‘get to the point, Romeo’ then gatecrash a party with his best friend. What he actually said was; “Be ruled by me. Forget to think of her.”

“O, teach me how I should forget to think!”

Sometimes, Romeo was far too dramatic for his own good, that would surely be his end.

“By giving liberty unto thine eyes. Examine other beauties.”

“’Tis the way to call hers exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows, being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair. He that is strucken blind cannot forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost. Show me a mistress that is passing fair; what doth her beauty serve but as a note where I may read who passed that passing fair? Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget.”

Benvolio had the sudden thought that maybe if he and Mercutio took Romeo to help gatecrash the Capulet’s party he’d find someone else to love. Making his mind up, Benvolio announced, “I’ll pay that doctrine or else die in debt.”


End file.
